


Gerontology

by Raj_Sound



Series: Intro to Community Fanfiction [4]
Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:55:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25980952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raj_Sound/pseuds/Raj_Sound
Summary: Annie tries to convince a reluctant Jeff to celebrate his birthday. The others argue about pizza.
Relationships: Annie Edison/Jeff Winger
Series: Intro to Community Fanfiction [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1884427
Comments: 107
Kudos: 127





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place on November 20th, 2013, about a year after Applied Intervention Dynamics and Intro to Business Law.

The mall is the last place Britta Perry expects to find herself on a Saturday. She’s never been a fan of the loud, crowded, sleazy tributes to the excess of American capitalism, but when Jeff asked her to help find Annie a birthday present, she couldn’t think of a good enough excuse to get out of it.

Okay, maybe she didn’t try that hard. They’re friends. Competitive, belligerent friends that used to have unremarkable joyless sex on occasion and constantly give each other crap, but friends nonetheless.

Plus, Jeff is cool now. Genuinely cool, not a narcissistic, status-obsessed jag made of neurosis and performative masculinity. A year with Annie sanded down some of the rougher edges of his personality. He’s less obsessed with shallow douchey things like his hair and his wardrobe and his workout routine. He’s taken an interest in more nuanced things, like defending civil liberties, teaching law part-time and basically anything Annie cares about.

Britta’s happy for them. They’ve come a long way from eye-banging each other across the study table and only talking about their feelings in middle school girl code. Which is why Britta is happy to brave this consumerist hellscape to ensure Jeff doesn’t pick something stupid that’s more for himself than her, like lingerie or stripper heels.

He skips the lingerie store, which is promising, but when he turns into an upscale jewelry store, Britta finds it impossible to contain her disdain. “Jewelry? Really? Isn’t that like the Jim Belushi of girlfriend gifts?” she asks cynically.

“I didn’t ask for sarcastic commentary,” Jeff retorts without much bite. He sounds almost…nervous?

“You didn’t have to. It’s one of the many perks that come with my friendship.”

He sighs irritably, running his fingers through his hair, leaving it genuinely mussed instead of meticulously styled to look mussed. “I knew I should have asked Shirley.”

“Shirley can’t keep a secret,” Britta says bluntly. She’s right. Shirley can’t keep a secret. “But I’m a professional. These lips? Fort Knox.” She mimes zipping her lips shut, locking them, then tossing away the key.

“Whatever,” Jeff says dismissively. “Just do me a favor? Pretend you’re someone else. Someone better.”

“Fine.” Britta thrust out her chest, bats her eyes, and adopts an unnaturally high voice. “I’m Annie. I love school. I wear tight sweaters and cute little skirts. I can make Jeff do anything with my Bambi eyes.”

“God, you’re the worst. And Annie doesn’t sound anything like that.”

“I’m Shirley. Jesus loves you,” Britta says sweetly, in a somewhat passable imitation of Shirley.

“Stop.” This bit is not funny and it’s borderline insulting to everyone involved.

“I’m Abed. Movie reference.”

Jeff scowls at her. “Now that’s just lazy.”

“Okay, okay. You’re right. I can do better.” She extends her hand to him forcefully. “Pierce Hawthorne. Something offensive.”

That earns a chuckle from Jeff. “That’s better,” he admits reluctantly.

“I’m Chang…”

“Quit while you’re ahead.”

“Whoa,” Britta says suddenly, realizing what counter they’re at. They went straight past all the watches, bracelets, earrings, and necklaces. “Wait a minute. Are you…”

Jeff turns to her. “Shut up. Fort Knox, remember? Don’t talk. Don’t think. Don’t react. Don’t freak out. Do _not_ try to therapize me. I assure you, I am of sound mind and body, here of my own free will,” Jeff commands. “And this probably should go without saying, but if you tell _anyone_ about this, the police will never find your body. Your sole purpose in being here is to help me make a decision. Once we leave, you will forget we were ever here. Understand?

Britta hesitates for a moment, uncertain if she’s allowed to speak. “Yes,” she says eventually.

“Good.” With that, Jeff summons to the salesman behind the counter. “Hi. I’d like to see your engagement rings.”

“Wonderful!” he says warmly. He’s a bit older than Jeff and bit worse for the wear, but he looks smart in his suit and his eyes are friendly. “Congratulations to you both. What style do you and your fiancé have in mind?”

Jeff tries to correct him, but Britta’s already forgotten her vow of silence.

“Not sure yet. First question: Can you tell me which of these are conflict diamonds? Second question: How do you sleep at night?”

* * *

_Get me some rope_

_Tie me to dream_

_Give me the hope_

_to run out of steam_

_Somebody said_

_it could be here_

_We could be roped up, tied up, dead in a year_

_I can't count the reasons I should stay_

_One by one they all just fade away_


	2. Act 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets are complicated. So is pizza.

Jeff has a plan. It involves a ski trip at the same hotel where Annie pretended to be Mrs. Winger the previous year. He hopes he won’t get as many drinks thrown in his face this time. There’s no Inspector Spacetime convention, so the odds of being mistaken for a minor British celebrity are somewhat lower.

It’s a good plan. A romantic getaway, just the two of them, in a place that has some emotional significance to the both of them. He even booked their reservation under his name, same as last year. All he’s got to do now is create a perfectly romantic moment that seems spontaneous enough not to be contrived to a woman who is much smarter than he is. No pressure.

But first, he has to keep Britta from spilling the beans in the middle of the study room.

“It’s simple. All you have to do is say nothing,” Jeff says irritably as they walk into the library. “Watch.” He stares at her, saying nothing. He keeps doing it, with hand gestures for emphasis. “You see? Simple.”

“I can’t. I’m gonna Britta it,” Britta says miserably.

“First of all, stop doing that,” Jeff says. “We all agreed we were going to stop using your name as shorthand for screwing up, and that includes you. That being said, as your friend, I have to warn you, I will not let you screw this up for me.”

“Okay.” She takes a deep breath. “Okay, I’m good. I’ve got this. I am going to Britta the hell out of this,” she says confidently. Jeff is less confident, but he nods reassuringly.

The rest of the original study group are already seated around the table as the two of them enter the room. Jeff gives Annie a quick kiss, then takes his seat at the table next to her. Britta slowly walks to her seat, as though she’s making a conscious effort to force each of her legs move one at a time. She sits equally robotically, then stares at the desk.

“What have you guys been up to?” Annie asks.

“Just a little shopping,” Jeff says. Technically not a lie.

“Uh huh!” Britta shouts. Jeff glares at her, but she doesn’t notice. She’s still staring at the table.

“You okay Britta?” Troy asks, sounding concerned. Britta is not okay. She is rocking in her seat like Abed does every time they change the clocks for daylight savings time.

“Great!” she yells.

“What’s with her?” Pierce asks.

“She probably has some kind of life-altering news that she’s unable to disclose to the rest of her that’s causing emotional distress,” Abed says, inconveniently on point as usual.

“Oooohhh. Gossip. Do tell,” Shirley coos eagerly. “I mean, I’m sure it’s nothing and we should all mind our own business.” Old habits die hard.

“Shirley’s right,” Jeff declares. “I’m sure whatever is on Britta’s mind is none of our business and has nothing to do with the rest of us, so we should respect her privacy.” He glares at Britta, who still refuses to look up from the desk.

“You guys are acting weird,” Annie says suspiciously.

“You’re gonna tell me later though, right?” Troy asks. Britta turns her head slowly and looks at him, her eyes wild. She turns to Jeff, who shakes his head with the most intimidating glare he can muster. She starts shaking uncontrollably.

“Jeffisgonna…” she blurts.

“Britta’s pregnant!” Jeff shouts over her. He’s not happy about throwing her under the bus, but he did warn her.

“WHAT!” Troy shrieks. “Am I the daddy? That’s impossible! We haven’t had sex for three months!”

“You guys have been broken up for almost a year,” Annie says.

Everyone stares at Troy.

“That’s not important right now!”

The baby grenade has it’s intended effect. Instead of breaking under the burden of Jeff’s secret, Britta is _pissed_ , which is as good a distraction as any. “Asshole!” she growls, chucking a pen at his head. “I’m not pregnant! Troy, I’m not pregnant,” she reassures him. Now he’s the one shaking uncontrollably.

“Are you sure?” Pierce asks. “Your breasts do seem bigger than usual.”

“Pierce, we talked about this,” Shirley scolds. Not that it ever does any good.

“What? It’s a compliment.”

Abed discretely checks his notebook. “Britta can’t be pregnant,” he announces positively.

“How do you know?” Britta asks, narrowing her eyes at Abed.

Abed blinks, then quickly closes his notebook. “I don’t. Chocolate?” he offers. Britta rolls her eyes.

“Abed leaves chocolates in the medicine cabinet for me when Aunt Flo comes to visit,” Annie explains for some reason. “I mean, they’re usually gone by the second day because Troy finds them, but it’s still sweet of him.”

“ _That’s_ why there’s chocolate in the bathroom?” Troy asks incredulously, his brain freshly wrinkled.

“I guess that means Ay-bed’s the period fairy,” Pierce notes.

“I’m sorry, there’s a period fairy now?” Shirley says skeptically. “Because I sure didn’t get a quarter under my pillow for _that_ when I was growing up.”

“Well, on that note, I have a meeting with Duncan,” Jeff announces as he stands up. “Apparently the psychology department hasn’t updated its liability waivers since 1996.”

“Hold it Brad Pitt,” Annie says. “Why would you tell us Britta is pregnant?”

“To distract you jerks long enough to get you to leave her alone. Which is what you’re going to do, right?”

The group hmmms reluctantly.

“Right?” Jeff repeats forcefully.

The group hmmms again with marginally more enthusiasm.

“Good. I’ll see you tonight Annie. My place, right?”

“Sounds good. Bye Jeff,” Annie replies warmly. He leans in quickly to kiss her goodbye, then heads out the door. She waits a few seconds after he leaves the room before speaking again. “Okay, is everyone ready for tonight?” she asks in a conspiratorial tone.

“I finished decorating the cake this morning,” Shirley says. “No numbers, just ‘Happy Birthday’ like you asked.”

“I’ll order the pizza,” Abed says.

“I’ve got the drinks. Question: Are there different kinds of scotch, and if so, does it matter what kind I get?” Troy asks.

“Let’s just keep it low-key, okay? You know how Jeff is about birthdays and he’s turning…” Annie pauses, looking around to make sure he’s out of earshot, “…forty, so he’s extra-sensitive about it. I’m just gonna take a little time after class to get him in a good mood, then I’ll bring him to the apartment, and we can all have a fun, relaxing, totally chill celebration.”

“And by get him in a good mood, you mean…”

“Pierce! Gross!” Annie protests. Her objection is mostly a formality at this point in their relationship. Inappropriate is Pierce’s default setting.

“What? I was going to say get him drunk. What did you think I meant?” Everyone rolls their eyes at him.

“Don’t worry Annie. We won’t let you down. Operation Midlife Crisis is a go,” Britta declares, rendering an exaggerated salute.

“Thanks,” Annie replies. “And if you could never call it that again, that would be great too.”

“You bet.”

“Are you sure you’re not pregnant?” Troy asks. “Because you are, I have some dope baby names picked out. What do you think about Chewbacca? It means, ‘He who hunts bounties.’”

Today is Jeff’s birthday, so he will get a reprieve, but Britta resolves to exact her revenge in the not too distant future.

* * *

Annie hands Jeff his scotch with a warm smile. She doesn’t make drinks for them often, partly because she wants him to cut back and partly because she isn’t very good at it, but a scotch neat is about as easy a drink as there is to prepare and she does want to get him to loosen up a bit before she drops the birthday bomb on him.

“Thanks,” Jeff says as Annie hands him the glass and sits down next to him on the couch. “You in the mood for a movie?” Over the last year he’s been methodically expanding her movie repertoire to ensure his Generation X references are no longer lost on her. Caddyshack is next in the que. Which okay, he was like six when it came out, but it’s a classic.

“Well, if you want to watch a movie, why don’t we go to my place?” Annie suggests nonchalantly. “Troy and Abed were thinking about ordering pizza. You’re due for a cheat day, right?”

Annie’s a good actress, but Jeff’s a better lawyer. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with my birthday, would it?” he asks shrewdly.

“Oh, is it your birthday?” she says airily. “I had no idea.”

Jeff sighs. Birthdays, specifically his and the celebrating thereof are one of those things they’re probably never going to agree on. It’s not a problem in any meaningful, relationship-sinking sense, but it’s annoying all the same. “Look, can we not make a big deal out of this?” he asks in a futile attempt to get out of whatever she has planned. “Honestly, I just want a quiet night at home with my girlfriend. Can we do that?”

“I guess…” she says in that sad little disappointed voice that makes his soul feel like it’s withering away in his chest. Crap.

“There’s already a party, isn’t there?” Jeff asks. He was doomed long before this conversation started.

“It’s totally casual. Just the seven of us.”

“Is there a cake?”

“There might be a cake,” Annie admits.

“Annie...”

“C’mon. Please?” She bats her eyes and runs her fingers down his arm. Dammit.

Jeff sighs. “How disappointed will our friends be if we don’t show up?”

* * *

Apartment 303 looks normal, at least as normal as an apartment with a permanent blanket fort can look. Annie banned birthday decorations of any kind. She was reluctant to even allow Shirley to make a cake, and only relented when it was obvious there was no talking her out of it.

This was going to be the most low-key birthday celebration ever.

“We should order the pizza now,” Abed announced. "Jeff and Annie will be here soon.”

“I have to say, we are going to a whole lot of trouble to not go to a whole lot of trouble. You all didn’t walk on eggshells around me when I turned forty,” Shirley grumbles.

“Just wait till he’s my age,” Pierce chuckles. “He’s in for a rude awakening. My prostate feels like it’s the size of a grapefruit.”

“Gross,” Britta says, looking appropriately disgusted.

“Everyone good with Marco’s?” Abed asks. “They’re the best. They have the perfect ratio of crust to sauce to cheese to toppings. Plus, they have really good breadsticks.”

“It’s so expensive though,” Troy complains.

“Can’t put a price on quality.”

You literally can though. That’s how price works. “What about Pizza King?” Troy suggests. “You can get a whole stack of pizzas for like twenty bucks.”

“Pizza King? More like piece of crap,” Pierce scowls. “It’s like eating cardboard!”

“But it’s the cheapest, so we can eat a lot of it,” Troy explains, as if that’s a perk.

“That’s not a perk,” Shirley protests.

“What about Marquis?” Britta asks. “It’s just as good as Marco’s and it’s vegan-friendly.”

The group collectively groans, because of course Britta would suggest some artisanal, soy-based, pale imitation of pizza.

“You can eat that vegan crap on your own time. Don’t you try to push your lifestyle choices on the rest of us,” Shirley lectures.

“I’m sorry,” Britta says, not sorry at all and suddenly defensive. “Some of us care about how we treat our fellow animals.”

Abed is getting nervous. This is becoming a _thing_. One of those things where the group takes something simple and otherwise inconsequential and blows it out of proportion. It’s not his fault. He already suggested the best option.

“Why? Survival of the fittest. Darwin. Look it up,” Pierce announces, as though he’s said something profound.

“I could always make homemade pizza,” Shirley offers sweetly. “I just need to run to the store and get some ingredients.”

Abed cuts her off bluntly. “Homemade pizza isn’t real pizza Shirley. Real pizza comes hot from a restaurant or it comes frozen from a store,” he asserts, as though it is an incontrovertible fact. To him, it is.

“It has all the same ingredients,” Shirley argues.

“It’s not the same.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s homemade,” Abed snaps.

“I’m sick of pizza,” Pierce complains. “You know what I’m in the mood for? Hot wings.”

The group groans again.

“What’s wrong with hot wings?”

“There are seven of us and only one bathroom,” Troy says pointedly.

“And I’m a vegetarian,” Britta adds.

“And that.”

“I wish Jeff were here. He’d know what to do,” Abed laments.

“We are perfectly capable of making decisions without Jeff,” Britta insists.

Abed stares at her. He had one job. Annie is going to be very disappointed in him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm probably going to tweak this after the fact, but I wanted to get something posted this weekend. Enjoy! Feedback is always welcome.


	3. Act 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeff and Annie discuss their age gap. The pizza discussion hits further gridlock.

There were only a few birthdays Jeff could recall with any fondness. His sixteenth birthday got him a driver’s license and some much-needed independence from his loving, but increasingly cloying mother. His eighteenth birthday signified his legal adulthood. It also meant that technically he could get drafted, but unless something stupid happened like a pointless war that dragged on forever, that probably wouldn’t be an issue for him.

His twenty-first birthday afforded him the ability to purchase alcohol without a fake ID, which helped him navigate the chronic disappointments of his young adulthood. His twenty-fifth birthday let him rent a car that was far more expensive than he could afford to buy, one of the key early components to crafting the persona that allowed him to fake his way to being a lawyer. But every birthday beyond that only served as a reminder that he was one step closer to being old.

He was happy to celebrate the birthdays of his younger friends, especially milestones like Troy and Annie’s respective twenty-first birthdays. Those were worth celebrating. He was even willing to celebrate the others’ increasingly pointless birthday celebration. Why on earth Shirley would want to celebrate turning _forty-three_ was beyond him. But there was a reason Jeff kept his birthday a jealously guarded secret, at least until now.

 **“** Look, if you really don’t want to go, I understand,” Annie says. “I know how you are about your birthday. I was just hoping I could make it fun for you. Birthdays are supposed to be fun. They’re a chance to celebrate you being you. And I don’t know if you noticed, but I kinda like you.”

“I appreciate that,” Jeff replies with a weary sigh. He knew he’d have to have this conversation with her eventually. It’s not like he lied about his age. She and the others assumed he was about thirty when they met, and he didn’t bother to correct them. It didn’t matter when he thought they’d all drift out of his life like everyone else did. But they didn’t. She didn’t. And suddenly, five years later, it mattered. “It’s just…I’m _forty_ Annie,” he says, like it’s a shameful secret.

“I know,” she replies, without judgement.

Annie doesn’t seem surprised by the fact that Jeff is suddenly like five years older than he pretended to be. Which means she already knew. Which makes sense. She’s _Annie_. If she wants to know something, she’s going to find out eventually. And the fact that she hasn’t called him out on it means that either she was waiting for him to confess so she can tear him a new one and dump his lying ass…or because she wants to give him the opportunity to talk about it when he’s ready and on his own terms.

Because she loves him.

“And you’re twenty-two,” he mutters.

“I turn twenty-three next month,” Annie says brightly, as if a month makes a difference in the seventeen years between them. It’s the difference between being just outside the realm of plausibly age-appropriate to literally being old enough to be her dad. Which is gross. He feels gross.

But that’s not really the problem, is it?

“Annie…”

“Jeff, we’ve been over this. It doesn’t bother me that you’re older. I _like_ that you’re older,” she insists. “Have you met guys my age? They’re idiots.”

* * *

Meanwhile, Troy and Abed have invented a novel way to solve the pizza debate. They call it Hallway Jousting, which is exactly what it sounds like. Troy and Abed to serve as knights, rolling chairs serve as their saddles, a mop and broomstick serve as lances, buckets serve as helmets, thick layers of clothing serve as armor, and last but not least, Shirley and Pierce serve as their steeds, pushing them in the rolling chairs while Britta yells at them and tells them how stupid this is.

“Marco’s!” Abed bellows as he charges.

“Pizza King!” Troy roars as he rolls to meet him on the hallway of battle.

Everyone, including Britta, suffers minor injuries. Nothing too serious, just some cuts, bruises, and a few splinters. The broomstick and mop are broken, as are the rolling chairs, there’s a new hole in the drywall, and they still don’t know what pizza to choose.

* * *

Jeff knows, objectively, that age is just a number. He knows that Annie doesn’t care beyond the fact that it bothers him. He knows that forty is the new thirty, especially given his devotion to his health and physical fitness. He knows all of these things, objectively, but there’s still that one thing that Annie, despite her beyond-her-years wisdom that usually puts him on the back foot in these conversations, doesn’t seem to appreciate.

“Look, I know I’ve still got the face and body of a thirty-year-old,” Jeff says with a half-hearted approximation of his typical Winger charm, “but eventually time’s going to catch up with me. And I worry that when it does, I’m not going to be able to keep up with you.”

“Keep up with me?” Annie asks, bewildered.

“When you start your career, you’ll be starting fresh and new, with limitless potential. I’ll be restarting a career that crashed and burned, and it will never be what it once was. When, _if_ we have a kid, you’ll be…whatever age you determine is appropriate for you to have a kid, and I’ll be the better part of two decades older than that,” Jeff explains. “I’m worried that I’ll slow you down, or that I’ll hold you back…or that you’ll leave me behind.”

Annie gets it. Just because you understand your insecurities doesn’t make them go away. And part of loving Jeff is accepting him as he his, insecurities and all.

“Jeff, I’m sure of us,” Annie says patiently. “I’m sure of you. I wouldn’t be with you otherwise. You know me. I am goal-oriented to a fault, and that includes our relationship. I have plans for us, and they account for our age difference.”

“Are there binders?” Jeff teases. He can’t help himself. Sincerity is still hard for him, and he has no way of expressing how humbled he is by the fact that she has _plans_ for them, that when she thinks about her future, he’s a crucial part of it.

“Of course, there are. Tabbed and color-coded for convenience, with references,” she says proudly. “I have my one-year plan, three-year plan, five-year plan, and ten-year plan. Subject to revision, of course. Please tell me you at least have a five-year plan.”

It’s strange being in love with a crazy person.

“Um, let’s see,” Jeff says, realizing that he’s woefully unprepared for this conversation. “Get my degree, check. Get my old job back, not happening, but I’m okay with that. And um…you.”

“That’s sweet,” Annie says warmly. She’s touched, but also a little annoyed that Jeff hasn’t put in a little more effort. “but that’s literally your five-year plan from five years ago. And it’s not even a plan. It barely qualifies as an idea of a plan.” However, just like when they were in class together, she’s willing to share her notes with him. “You need goals, milestones, details, primary and contingency plans.”

Jeff frowns. “That sounds like a lot of work.”

Annie shrugs. “I’m worth it, right?” she asks coyly.

Like she has to ask.

* * *

The others, having concluded that physical challenges are perhaps not the safest or most effective ways of determining the merits of pizza vendors, have decided to take a page from the Annie Edison playbook. Abed stands before a large blackboard on wheels, with a detailed illustration of the critical crust to sauce to cheese to topping ratio, along with customer satisfaction charts and a cost/benefit analysis.

If this were for a class, especially at Greendale, he’d easily get an A.

“…and that’s why Marco’s Pizza is the obvious and only pizza choice, today, tomorrow, and for the foreseeable future,” Abed explains, cutting to the end of the explanation, since the scene would drag on unnecessarily if it started at the beginning of his presentation.

“I have a question,” Shirley says, raising her hand.

“No, she doesn’t,” Britta interjects dismissively.

“But homemade…”

“Let it go Shirley,” Troy says kindly, but with obvious impatience. “You already had your turn.”

“I have a question. Why do you have a blackboard in your apartment Ay-bed?” Pierce asks.

“It’s Annie’s.”

“Why does Annie have…”

“Can we please stay on topic for once?” Britta complains. It occurs to her that she seems to be channeling Annie in her absence. Trying to keep the group on task, trying to keep the peace, neither of which she is particularly well-suited to.

“My turn,” Troy says, clapping his hands together for effect. He spins the blackboard around, revealing a crude series of illustrations on the other side. “Okay, check it out. This is our money.” He points to his drawing of a modest stack of bills. “And this, is the amount of pizza we can get if we spend it all on fancy rich people pizza.” He points to an equally modest stack of what vaguely resembles pizza.

“But if we get Pizza King, which is perfectly good pizza if you eat it fast enough, we can get…” he continues, gesturing to a massive stack of pizza, “…this much. More is better. Boom. Mic drop. Debate over!”

No one is impressed.

“Troy, we all understand what you’re saying,” Britta says slowly, like she’s talking to a child, “but I think the rest of us want quality over quantity, with all natural, non-GMO, cruelty free ingredients.”

“Speak for yourself hippie,” Shirley scowls. “You’re still pushing that vegan nonsense. They make the crust out of cauliflower!”

“It tastes the same!”

“You can lie to yourself if you want to Britta, but don’t you dare lie to me. Any fool in their right mind can tell the difference between cauliflower and real flour!” Shirley thunders.

“What if I just pay for the pizza?” Pierce offers. “I’m rich, remember? I can buy all the pizza you people want. And wings.”

“Are you gonna buy us six more bathrooms?” Troy asks skeptically.

“I’ll consider it!” Pierce bristles. “By the way, I didn’t mean ‘you people’ as a race thing.”

“Nobody thought you did,” Britta says.

“Until now,” Shirley mutters.

“But if you think about it, Britta and I are the only two white people in this apartment at the moment, so really, that makes us the minorities. Plus Britta’s a lesbian, so, you know. Double minority.”

Britta scowls at Pierce and Shirley looks like she’s about to him a new one. “You know what, it’s not even worth it,” Shirley fumes. “Look, what if we just get one pizza from each place? I can make one, the rest of you can get one that you like, and Pierce can even get his hot wings. Everybody wins.”

For one brief, beautiful moment, it seems like they have a solution.

“What about toppings?” Abed asks.

And just like that, it’s gone. Everyone groans.

“We almost had it Ay-bed,” Pierce complains.

“What if we just vote on it?” Troy asks.

“Fine,” Abed says curtly. “All those in favor of Marco’s?”

He raises his own hand. No one else does.

“All those in favor of Pizza King?” he continues.

Only Troy raises his hand.

“I see a flaw in your system Troy.”

“I don’t see you coming up with anything better,” Shirley huffs.

“You didn’t ask me to. But fine. Everyone rank their favorite from one to five, with one being the best and five being the worst. I’ll add up the numbers. Lowest score wins.”

“Didn’t we say we weren’t going to rank each other again?” Britta asks, recalling the great terrarium pairing conflict of 2011. Biology class was a dark time for the group.

“We’re ranking pizza, not people,” Pierce counters.

“We might as well be. Our taste in pizza is a reflection of who we are as people.”

“That’s true!” Troy says somberly. He thinks about what that says about them as individuals, Abed’s fixation on ratios, Shirley’s compulsion to earn love with baking, Britta’s performative moralizing, and Pierce’s indifference to the very real impact hot wings have on the digestive system. His brain wrinkles when he considers the implications of his own choice. “Wait, what does that say about me?”

* * *

“Jeff, can I make a confession?” Annie asks in a small, but serious voice. They still haven’t made any real effort to leave the apartment yet.

“I thought you were Jewish. Isn’t confession Catholic thing?” Jeff quips to lighten the mood.

“Weirdly similar. Lots of chanting, lots of guilt,” Annie replies. “But no, it’s um, it’s about our age difference.” She fiddles with the hem of her dress. “Something that bothers me about it.”

Jeff nods, doing his best to ignore the pit forming in his stomach. “Okay. I will do my best not to freak out. Go ahead.”

“I don’t worry about how we look to other people. I used to, a little, but not anymore. I don’t worry that people will think I’m a gold digger or that you’re a cradle robber or any of that other ageist crap,” Annie explains. “I worry about the fact that when you’re eighty, I’ll only be sixty-four.”

Jeff is both bemused and confused. By the time they’re both old, it won’t matter anymore, right? “I know you’re a planner, but four decades down the line is a bit much, don’t you think?” Jeff asks carefully. He sees that Annie’s mood has shifted, to the point that she looks like she could cry, and he doesn’t understand why.

“I worry about how much time we’ll have together,” Annie says, struggling to talk past the lump in her throat. “I worry about how much time I’ll have…without you.”

If Jeff had any lingering doubts about the depths of Annie’s love for him, they’re gone now. He pulls her into a protective embrace, planting a kiss on her forehead as she quietly sobs into his chest.

“I don’t care that you’ve got a head start. I get to go first. Promise you’ll let me go first,” she demands.

Jeff’s glad he has no way of keeping that promise. He’s still selfish like that. But he does decide to drink less, take his medication as directed, and generally make his health a priority. He wants as many years with Annie as he can get. Even if that means going off book.

“I’ll see what I can do. And for the record, I’m sure of you too.”

“Good. Because I am not doing a Golden Girls reboot with Britta.”

He laughs, which is good, because if the wetness on his cheeks is any indication, he was crying too.


	4. Act 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Math is hard. Plans are complicated. Saying yes is easy.

Abed has been making that high-pitched whining sound for a good five minutes, which has the rest of the current occupants of Apartment 303 completely unraveled. Even Pierce, who is normally oblivious to this sort of thing looks deeply uncomfortable as he watches Abed malfunction in front of him.

“Abed? Buddy?” Troy asks cautiously. This is even worse than daylight savings time. This is like a DEFCON 1 of Abed meltdowns. Or maybe DEFCON 4. Whichever is the worst DEFCON. “Are you okay? What’s happening?"

“It’s a perfect tie,” Abed whispers in horror. “You have to be doing this on purpose. There’s no way it could happen by accident. The lowest number was supposed to win. That’s what we agreed to. But there was no lowest number. They’re all the same.”

“What are the odds of that happening?” Shirley asks.

“Less than a fraction of a percent. Are you messing with me? Why are you doing this?” Abed demands, rocking back and forth. “I don’t like it. Please stop.”

“Nobody’s messing with you Abed,” Troy insists, trying in vain to reassure him. “What did everyone rank lowest?”

“I picked Pizza King,” Shirley volunteers reluctantly. “Sorry Troy. That pizza sucks.”

“None taken. I picked Marco’s,” Troy admits. “Sorry buddy. Marco’s is overrated.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion,” Abed replies, seemingly unoffended. “I picked homemade.”

“No surprise there,” Shirley grumbles.

“Well, I picked Marquis,” Pierce says boisterously. “Sorry Britta, but no one wants to eat that vegan crap.”

“Well, I picked hot wings,” Britta proclaims proudly. “Chickens have feelings too. And faces!”

Everyone groans in response.

“Okay. What did everyone rank highest?” Troy asks.

“Homemade,” Shirley says. Clearly the best, as it’s made with both fresh ingredients and love.

“Marquis,” Britta says, not seeing the point of this. After all, isn’t everyone going to vote for themselves?

“Marco’s,” Abed adds, proving her point. After all, Marco’s is clearly the best. He’s proven it scientifically.

“Hot wings,” Pierce chimes. It’s not like everyone has to get spicy wings. There are plenty of other flavors. Barbeque, lemon pepper. And Britta can even chew on some celery or whatever hippies eat.

“And we all know you picked Pizza King, so how does that help us?” Britta asks.

“Actually, I picked Marquis,” Troy says sheepishly. It isn’t often that anyone in the group takes Britta’s side and he feels like he owes her one.

Britta is touched. Things have still been a little weird between them since they broke up and since they hooked up during the whole murder mystery thing, but this is sweet of him. “Really? Thanks Troy,” she says gratefully. “But don’t you see Abed? We can fix it. Troy can just change his vote to Pizza King and then Pizza King will win and we’ll be…stuck with Pizza King.” Pizza King really is just the worst. “Maybe we need to find a different way to decide.”

“We could roll for it,” Pierce offers, producing a set of dice.

“Why do you have dice?” Troy asks.

“Be prepared! Scout’s motto,” Pierce, who has never been affiliated with the Boy Scouts of America, says proudly. “Plus, I never know when I’ll end up playing Dungeons and Dragons with you people. And by ‘you people’ I mean…”

“We know!”

“There’s no such thing as a five-sided die anyway,” Abed says dismissively.

“So, if we roll a six, we’ll just roll again,” Troy replies.

“If we do, we’ll end up creating another dark timeline, one where at least one version of us is stuck eating Shirley’s homemade pizza.”

“Abed! That’s not very nice,” Britta says, attempting to scold him. It has no effect.

“Oh, who cares?” Shirley shouts. “We’ve been at this for hours. And where are Annie and Jeff?”

“I texted them over an hour ago. They haven’t gotten back to me,” Abed replies.

Troy finally hits his own DEFCON 4. Or 1. Whatever. The bad one. “I can’t take this anymore!” he cries. “Where is Jeff? We need him to tell us what to do!”

* * *

“We should probably get to the party, right?” Annie asks. They still haven’t left the couch. Annie’s heels sit discarded on the floor. She rests her head in his lap, letting out a happy sigh as Jeff strokes her hair. Other than chamomile tea, there are few things that Annie finds more relaxing than having someone play with her hair.

She’ll never tell him this, because she doesn’t want him to read into it, but it reminds her of when she was little and when her mom would brush her hair. She was high-strung even when she was a kid, and her mother was never a reliable source of affection, but this simple ritual let her relax, made her feel safe, warm, and loved. It’s different with Jeff for obvious reasons, but the feeling is the same. Safe. Warm. Loved.

“Probably,” Jeff agrees half-heartedly.

“You want to check out my five-year plan first?”

Jeff chuckles. “You have a problem,” he says, shaking his head.

Annie sits up so she can look him in the eyes. “Just to give you some ideas. Please?” she asks eagerly.

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” Jeff says. Clearly he has no intention of putting up a real fight to this.

Annie squeals with glee as she unzips her backpack, withdrawing a large and colorful binder. Of course, she keeps it in her backpack. “I started a new one after I changed majors,” she explains. “It’s still a work in progress, so it’s a little rough around the edges, but I’m sure it will inspire you.”

Annie’s interpretation of work in progress is roughly akin to Jeff’s definition of doctoral thesis. “You know, if you keep doing stuff like this, Britta’s going to want study you under laboratory conditions,” Jeff quips.

“I’ll have you know that my superior organizational skills are the only reason we made it through half our classes.”

“She said, proving my point.”

Annie emits an indignant gasp, which Jeff finds unspeakably adorable.

“Come here,” he laughs. “Let’s see what the next five years of Annie looks like.”

“You’re lucky I like you,” she grumbles, but she hops back on the couch next to him, binder in hand. “Okay. There are three major focus areas. Education, career, and relationship.”

“Why is the relationship part blank?” Jeff asks.

“Because it’s about us,” Annie replies.

Jeff looks pleased, and then a bit confused. “Okay, but why is it blank?”

“I was hoping we could work on it together,” Annie admits shyly.

“Sounds good,” Jeff replies reassuringly. “How do we start?”

Annie’s smile is infectious. “Well, it’s all about goals. These are academic goals, like graduating from Greendale, applying for internships and grad schools and so on. These are career goals, applying for jobs with government or law enforcement, getting promoted and such. And this column represents relationship goals.”

“Like, moving in together?” Jeff asks.

“Exactly,” she beams. “Moving in, getting engaged, getting married, having kids…” In her excitement, she briefly forgot that she is talking to someone that has, or at least had a pathological fear of commitment. He doesn’t seem to be freaking out though. That’s good.

“So, how soon can I ask you to marry me?” Jeff asks. Oh my. Annie’s heart starts racing. Jeff’s definitely not freaking out. Annie might be freaking out a little bit. Not in a bad way. Just in an _oh my God, Jeff just asked me when he can ask me to marry him_ kind of way.

They’ve only been dating for a year. On the other hand, they’ve been _dating_ for a year. They’ve been sort of but not really dating, but still each other’s emergency contacts, would drop (almost) anything to help one another and generally the most important people in each other’s lives for the better part of like five years. Really, they were in a serious relationship before they even went on their first proper date.

“Well, when I was sixteen I planned to be married by the time I was twenty-five,” Annie explains carefully, trying to remain calm. “Of course that was before the whole Adderall, rehab, plate glass window thing. I was supposed to be finishing grad school already and starting my career as a hospital administrator. And you were supposed to be a doctor. And Jewish.”

If he asks, or rather, _when_ he asks, she knows what her answer will be.

“What about now?”

“Hard to say. Too many variables,” Annie replies coyly. She’s willing to share her notes, but she’s not going to just hand him the answers to the test.

Jeff laughs. “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

“My best friend told me I was worth it.”

“Sounds like a smart guy.”

“He’s an ass,” Annie smirks, smacking his chest. “But I love him anyway.”

Jeff had a good plan. It was sweet, thoughtful, romantic as hell, appealed to an inside joke between them as friends and lovers, and was pretty close to the perfect proposal plan as far as Jeff could imagine. Thing is, he’s always been better at improvising.

“I thought I’d have a speech for this. Seems like a classic Winger speech moment, but I’ve got nothing,” Jeff muses as he reaches into his pocket. “All I have a question.”

He gets down on one knee and opens the small black box in his hand. The ring has an amethyst stone, because Britta wouldn’t shut up about blood diamonds, and diamonds are boring and played out and unimaginative, plus purple is her favorite color anyway. It’s small, understated and a little odd as engagement rings go, but it shines brightly. Just like Annie.

“Annie…” Jeff starts.

“Yes!” Annie yelps.

“You have to let me ask you first,” Jeff laughs.

“Sorry!” She’s barely holding it together, but she manages not to squeal with glee. Out loud anyway.

“Annie, will you…”

“Yes!” Crap. She did it again. “Sorry! Sorry. Ask away.”

Jeff smiles at Annie like the whole world’s a joke and the two of them are the only ones that are in on it. Like she’s his favorite person. Like she’s his heart. He takes both of her hands in his. “Annie Edison, will you marry me?”

Third time’s a charm.

“Yes.”

Suddenly she’s nineteen again, kissing _Jeff Winger_ like she did under those fairy lights all those years ago, like it’s new and thrilling, and even a little scary. Like they’re holding hands and taking a leap into the unknown, with nothing held back.

When they finally break and he looks into those sparkling blue eyes, the only question he has left is how he waited so long for her. He feels like he spent his whole life waiting to fall in love with Annie Edison and he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with her.

“I love you. So much,” he says as he places the ring on her finger.

“I love you. With all my heart,” she replies as she kisses him again.

As much as the newly engaged couple would like to take this increasingly heated make out session to the bedroom and celebrate their engagement in a not at all PG-13 fashion, they do have a party to attend that they are now very late for.

“I can’t believe you would rather go to a birthday party than have sex with your fiancé,” Jeff quips.

“Look at it this way. Now we have two things to celebrate. And don’t worry. Your _fiancé_ will more than make it up to you later tonight,” Annie says seductively, stroking his chest with her left hand suggestively.

Jeff grins. “So, we make a quick appearance, stay the minimum socially acceptable amount of time, then come back to _our_ place to celebrate?”

“It’s our place now?” Annie teases.

“You’re here most nights anyway,” Jeff shrugs. “You’ve decorated the living room, taken half of the closet, drawer, and bathroom counter space, and I’ve been paying for an extra parking space for months now. I figure it’s a formality at this point.”

“Still, it would be nice to be asked.”

He pretends to mull it over for a moment. “Fine,” he relents. “Annie Edison, will you move in with me?”

“Yes. See, was that so hard? Now, let’s get to that party,” she declares.

“And she’s bossing me around. People warned me this is what marriage would be like.”

“Oh whatever. You love it when tell you what to do.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that,” Jeff smirks. “For the record, I still don’t want a birthday party. But,” he continues before Annie can object, “I think I’d be cool with an engagement party.”

* * *

“Okay, so we’re all agreed, wings are out,” Troy says wearily.

“Agreed,” everyone but Pierce replies.

“I still say this bracket is rigged,” Pierce grumbles as Troy crosses hot wings off of the double elimination bracket on the blackboard.

“He’s right. Three of the options got seeded. Hardly seems fair,” Shirley complains.

“You’re on my side? That’s nice,” Pierce says, offering Shirley a fist-bump which she neither acknowledges nor returns.

“She’s just mad homemade wasn’t one of the three that got seeded,” Abed explains.

“I’m mad because it took us half an hour to decide between homemade and hot wings in an apartment with only one toilet!” Shirley snaps. “And you were the hold out Abed. Don’t pretend you’re innocent.”

“So, at this rate, it should only take us another three hours to decide,” Britta says.

“Hour and a half,” Abed corrects her.

“Whatever, John Denver. I’m a psychology major, not a math major.”

“Annie says, ‘Sorry we’re running late. We’re on our way. Be there in thirty minutes,’” Troy announces, reading her text from his phone.

“When did you get that text?” Shirley asks. “I didn’t hear your phone.”

“I heard it ding like, thirty minutes ago,” Troy explains. Everyone glares at him. “What? I was doing the bracket! It’s not my fault no one else in this group understands sports.”

“So, they should be here,” Britta starts as she hears the door open, “right now.”

“Surprise!” the group yells with underwhelming enthusiasm as Annie and Jeff enter the apartment.

“Oh wow. What a nice surprise. You shouldn’t have,” Jeff deadpans.

“That was sarcasm, right?” Abed asks. “You don’t seem surprised.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Actually, we’re going to change up the theme a little bit,” Annie says eagerly. “Turns out, we have a little surprise of our own.”

She holds up her hand to show off her ring. Britta is the first to spot it.

“Holy crap, he actually did it!” Britta shrieks. She runs and pulls Annie into a tight hug. Both of them squeal with joy, hopping up and down.

“What’s happening?” Abed asks, sounding concerned.

“Shirley, come see,” Britta commands, grabbing Annie’s hand for Shirley to see.

Shirley’s eyes go wide and she fans face with both hands. “Oh, sweet Lord Jesus, I prayed this day would come! Annie!” she shouts, scurrying over to join the other two women in a group hug.

“Why’s everyone hugging Annie?” Troy asks, looking confused. Then he spots her ring. “WHAT!”

He leaps into the group hug. “I’m so happy. The happiness is leaking out of my eyes!” he cries hysterically. “I’m just a man. I can’t handle this much emotion!”

Pierce claps Jeff on the back proudly. “Congratulations Jeffrey,” he says magnanimously. “You’re a good man. Be good to her.”

“Thanks Pierce. I will,” Jeff replies.

“And if you need any advice on marriage…”

“I’ll ask someone who hasn’t been divorced seven times.”

“Fair enough.”

“Do you have a date picked yet?” Shirley asks after extracting herself from the group hug.

“Not an exact date, but we're thinking next summer,” Jeff replies. Annie, of course, already has a wedding binder complete with venues and venders, so half the planning is already done.

“That's soon! Is there a reason it's so soon?” Shirley asks suspiciously. Annie’s not a Christian, but Shirley had hoped that Annie would have the willpower to resist temptation until she is married. Not that she’s one to judge.

Annie shrugs. “Life is short,” she explains. “We waited long enough.” She shares a loving smile with her future husband, but it fades when she realizes that realizes that someone is missing.

“Wait. Where’s Abed?”

* * *

Annie finds him in her bedroom, sitting on her bed amidst her stuffed animals. He has Ruthie sitting on his lap, which he stares at thoughtfully.

“Abed? Is everything okay?” Annie asks. “You’re missing the party.”

“You’re moving out, aren’t you?” he says sadly.

Annie doesn’t reply. She just gives him a sad smile, silently acknowledging the truth of his words, then takes a seat next to him on the bed.

“It makes sense,” Abed continues. “You’re engaged. It’s the right time for you to spin off.”

It’s times like this that Annie is reminded of the depths of her affection for Abed. Apartment 303 wasn’t just an apartment. It was home, the first real home she ever had, the first place where she had a family that loved her unconditionally. And Abed was the one that asked her to move in there in the first place.

“I’m not spinning off Abed,” she says gently. “I’m just…starting a new character arc.” She hopes she can make him understand. She knows Abed doesn’t deal with change very well.

Abed considers her answer. He seems satisfied, but still melancholic. “Sure. But you will spin off eventually. We all will,” he explains. “Maybe Britta moves in with us. Awkward unresolved sexual tension between ex’s with me as a third wheel could make for good story fodder. Kind of a reverse Three’s Company. Or maybe Pierce is murdered and it turns out Shirley is psychic, and she communes with Pierce’s spirit to solve his murder. Or maybe you become an FBI agent and Jeff becomes a DA, and you two solve crimes together each week. Or maybe…”

“Abed!” Annie interjects. “Stop pitching.”

“Sorry. The point is, things can’t stay the same forever. If things don’t change, the format gets stale and the audience will lose interest. I’m sad to see you go, but I’m happy you’re happy.”

“Thanks Abed,” Annie says, giving him a tearful hug. “I love you.”

“I know,” he replies, returning the hug. He’s never been much of a hugger, but he’ll make an exception for Annie.

“Come and celebrate with me. Please?”

Abed nods. “Okay. What kind of pizza should we get?”

“Marco’s, obviously,” Annie replies with an implied _duh doy_. “It’s the best pizza in town. It has the perfect crust to sauce to cheese to topping ratio.”

It occurs to Abed that while Troy is his best friend, Annie was his best roommate. “I’m really going to miss living with you,” he says sincerely.

“Me too.”

“Hey, where’d you two wander off to?” Jeff asks, poking his head through the door.

“We were just deciding what pizza to get,” Annie replies. She decides to keep the rest between the two of them. There are plenty of Jeff and Annie moments, past and future. This is an Abed and Annie moment, and it’s one that she’ll cherish.

“I’ll make the call,” Abed says eagerly. He hops off the bed and heads out the door. Jeff gives them both a quizzical look, but Annie simply shrugs and follows Abed out of the room, planting a quick kiss on her confused fiancé’s lips as she passes him by.

* * *

“We should toast,” Pierce proclaims once Abed, Annie, and Jeff join the others and the full group is once again assembled in the living room.

“Yes! Do you guys have champagne? And those fancy champagne glass things?” Britta asks.

“You mean flutes?” Jeff asks dryly.

“Whatever they’re called.”

“They’re called flutes.”

“I thought a flute was an instrument,” Troy chimes in.

“They’re both called flutes,” Jeff explains with a sigh.

“Why would they use the same word for two different things?”

“It’s called a homonym.”

“I thought you said it was called a flute!” Troy complains. “Now you’re just making up words.”

“We have box wine and plastic cups,” Annie offers. Keeping this group on topic is always a struggle.

“Close enough,” Shirley proclaims. With Troy’s help, Annie fills seven red plastic cups with wine they may have purchased at a gas station and passes them around.

“To Jeff and Annie. May they have many happy years together,” Pierce proclaims.

“To Jeff and Annie,” the others echo.

“Can I do one? I always wanted to make a toast,” Troy asks.

“Go ahead Troy,” Jeff replies.

“To Jeff and Annie. You guys are my best friends. Next to Abed. Seriously, I…" he stuffs a fist in his mouth and looks away. "… love you both. On an unrelated note, I have something in my eye. Please excuse me.”

“Awww, Troy!” Annie beams as he runs out of the room.

“I’m sorry,” Troy sobs from his bedroom. “This has been a really emotional day!”

“I’d like to make a toast too,” Britta announces. The others brace themselves for whatever well-meaning but poorly conceived thought Britta wants to share. She raises her cup. “Marriage is a patriarchal institution created by men to subjugate women for unpaid domestic labor,” she proclaims.

They all wait for her to finish, glancing awkwardly at each other. Britta just beams around the circle.

"Oh, you want more," she says, unsure what to add. She made a very valid point. She considers explaining how women get paid seventy-three cents on the dollar while doing the majority of childrearing and other household labor, but mercifully manages to read the room for once and decides to go in a different direction. "Okay. Um… _But_ I’m sure your marriage will be totally awesome or whatever, because Annie is awesome and Jeff is kind of okay sometimes. Salut!”

“Salut…” the others reply with mixed enthusiasm. She tried. It could have been worse.

“I’d like to say something, if I may,” Shirley starts. She clears her throat, then continues. “Annie, Jeffrey, when I first saw you two making googly eyes at each other, I’ll admit, I was worried. I was afraid you would hurt her Jeffrey and I _swear to God_ …" She pauses, closes her eyes, and resets. "Anyway, I’m happy to say, I was wrong. Instead, I got to watch the two of you grow into your love for each other over the years. You two are the best of friends, and that’s a strong foundation for a successful marriage. Trust each other, support each other, and love each other, and I promise you, everything else will work out. To Jeff and Annie.”

“To Jeff and Annie.”

“Well, no one is going to top that,” Abed declares. No one disagrees.

There’s a knock at the door. “Who is it?” Pierce old man yells at the door.

“It’s too soon to be the pizza, and everyone we know is here already,” Abed replies. He thinks for a second and frowns. “I hope it’s not Chang.”

It’s not. “Dean-a-ling!” Craig announces cheerfully, walking through the door like he owns the place. “I heard that someone is celebrating their birthday today! I assume my invitation got lost in the mail, otherwise I would have RSVP’d,” he adds passive-aggressively.

“I’m sure that’s what happened,” Jeff says sarcastically. The dean either fails to pick up on it or chooses to ignore it.

“This is actually an engagement party, as of like, five minutes ago,” Troy explains.

Craig clutches his chest dramatically. “Oh my God. Congratulations!” he cries, pulling a confused Troy and Britta into an unwanted group hug. “I know you and Britta hit a rough patch for a while there, but I am so happy you crazy kids were able to work things out.”

“Actually, Jeff and I are the ones that are getting married,” Annie says delicately. “See?” She shows the dean her ring.

Craig goes from happy to confused to indignant to absolutely _devastated_ in the span of a few seconds. “I see,” he says, clearly choking back decidedly unhappy tears, “I’m very happy for you both. Excuse me. I really have to take this call.” He pulls his keys out of his pocket and holds them to his ear like a cell phone as he runs into Annie’s room and slams the door behind him.

“I hope he’s okay,” Annie says, sounding worried. They can still hear shrill sobs coming through the closed door.

“He’ll be fine.”

“Is the dean moving in with us?” Abed asks. “Is this going to be like when Ross moved in with Chandler and Joey?”

“I thought Jeff was Chandler,” Britta argues.

“I’ll admit, it’s not a perfect comparison.”

“True,” Jeff agrees. “Because if I’m Chandler and Annie is Monica, then that means the dean is Janice _._ ”

“Did you just out-meta _Abed_?” Troy says in awe. This day has been full of surprises.

“I knew this day would come,” Abed says solemnly. “I have nothing left to teach you.” He gives Jeff a respectful nod.

“Is that your toast Ay-bed?” Pierce asks.

“Close enough.”

“I hope this doesn’t screw up my chances of getting valedictorian,” Annie laments as the sounds of the dean wailing echo through the apartment.

Jeff chuckles at her misguided priorities. She is a huge dork sometimes, but he loves that about her too. He gives pulls Annie into a hug and plants a kiss on her forehead. She looks up at him and grins, then reaches up to caress his cheek and bring him in for a proper kiss, ignoring the jeers and cat-calls from their friends. ~~~~

Craig eventually emerges from Annie’s bedroom, seeming to have composed himself. “Sorry about that,” he says sheepishly. “My sister can be _such_ a drama queen. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you happy birthday Jeffrey. You may be thirty-nine, but you don’t look a day over twenty-five.”

Jeff rolls his eyes, assuming Craig is trying to placate his ego. He’s not _that_ insecure. “It’s okay Craig,” he sighs. “Everyone knows I’m forty.”

The dean looks confused. “But you’re thirty-nine…” he says questioningly.

“No, he’s forty,” Annie incorrects him.

“But you were born in ‘74, same as me,” he insists. “And I turned thirty-nine back in June. So, unless you’re some kind of time traveler, that would make you…”

“Thirty-nine,” Abed confirms. “It’s 2013. November 20th, 1974 was thirty-nine years ago today. Are you doing a bit? Did you really not know that? Did you give yourself a continuity error? Because that’s pretty weird Jeff, and that’s coming from me.”

Jeff frowns. “That’s impossible,” he scoffs. His face twists as he counts off the decades, then the individual years on his fingers. He counts again, and his eyes widen as he realizes his mistake. “Oh my God, I'm thirty-nine.”

“ _Seriously_ Jeffrey!” Shirley growls.

Britta doubles over, cackling madly. “Best. Day. Ever!” she crows.

“He really ‘Jeffed’ that one up,” Pierce cracks.

Everyone bursts into laughter, except Jeff and Annie, the latter of whom is slowly realizing that she made the same mistake.

“No!” Jeff barks. “That is not a thing! We are not making that a thing!” It’s a lost cause.

“Trust me, it’s easier if you just go with it,” Britta beams, clapping the new Britta on his back.

“Wait. That can’t be right. Annie told us he was forty too. And she’s like, really good at math,” Troy insists. “She used to tutor me and everything.”

“I may have made a minor arithmetic error,” Annie admits reluctantly, trying not to let the deep overwhelming shame suck her into a mental sinkhole. “It could happen to anyone.”

“Maybe you two should enroll in Chang’s remedial math class,” Craig suggests hopefully. There haven’t been any takers so far.

Jeff stares at Craig. “You’re letting Chang teach again?”

“Don’t change the subject Jeffrey.”

The engagement / birthday party devolves into an argument about whether Ben Chang should be allowed to teach or generally be around humans, whether Jeff will have a genuine midlife crisis when he _actually_ turns forty a year from now, whether Annie should still be in the running for valedictorian, whether this means Britta gets to be smart again, and whether “Jeffed up” has more staying power than “streets ahead.”

Eventually the bickering gives way to pizza and cake and later in the evening Annie makes up an excuse for Jeff to follow her into her bedroom so they can celebrate their engagement in her bed with relative privacy, in spite of a chorus of boos from the rest of the study group. All things considered, it’s probably the best not-fortieth birthday party Jeff Winger could ever ask for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Little_Annie_Adderall and mattaf30 for beta reading, providing awesome suggestions and feedback, and otherwise making this story so much better. Outro to follow soon!


	5. Outro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guest Appearance by Alison Brie

“Troy and Abed in the morning!”

Troy and Abed sit in the study room with their signature _Troy and Abed in the Morning_ coffee cups in hand. Jeff and Annie are sitting next to them as well, holding hands and smiling for the non-existent cameras. They’ve both been on the show before, but this is the first time they’ve been on together.

“And we’re back,” Troy says, his voice dripping with morning show cheer. “We’ve got Annie Edison and Jeff Winger back with us this morning. How are you guys doing?”

“Hi guys. Great to be back,” Annie says happily, waving for the imaginary camera.

“I should probably be holding up a copy of today’s newspaper,” Jeff says sarcastically, “but no one is watching this anyway.”

He only showed up at this ungodly hour because Annie asked him to, and if he had a hard time disappointing her before, he finds it downright impossible now that he’s engaged to her.

“Oh you,” Annie scolds him, smacking his chest with her free hand. Troy and Abed respond with canned, studio friendly laughter.

“So, a little bird told us that you two crazy cats are getting married!” Abed says in-character. Abed of _Troy and Abed in the Morning_ bears very little resemblance to his day-to-day self. It’s kind of amazing how easily Abed gets lost in his characters.

“Let’s see that ring girl!” Troy clucks. Annie raises her left hand to show off her engagement ring. If the cameras were real, they’d be panning in for a close-up of the magenta stone glittering on the silver band.

“That must have set you back a few pennies,” Abed whistles.

“Well, she’s worth it,” Jeff replies, bringing Annie’s hand up so he can kiss it.

“Awww,” Troy and Abed and Annie coo in unison.

“So, how did you lovebirds meet?” Troy asks for the benefit of the imaginary studio audience. Jeff begrudgingly admires their commitment to the bit.

“Funny story, true story,” Annie starts. “Jeff started a Spanish study group so he could hit on our friend Britta. You guys know Britta, right?”

“Love her,” Abed fawns.

“She’s the best,” Troy beams.

“I may have pretended to be a ‘board certified’ tutor. Which got this little over-achiever’s attention,” Jeff teases affectionately. He bumps her shoulder with his own. They grin at each other, sharing something in their gaze that no one else can see.

“Was it love at first sight?” Abed asks.

“Not exactly, but there was a spark early on,” Annie explains. “We became friends, best friends, and we had this whole atmosphere of ‘would they, might they’ for _years_ before we finally...”

Jeff’s smile fades and his expression shifts to one of concern as Annie trails off and goes deathly pale before his eyes. She seems to collapse into herself at the sight of whoever or whatever is in the door.

“Hello, Annie,” Annie’s voice says. Only Annie isn’t speaking. It’s a nearly perfect imitation though, only colder and more formal.

Jeff turns to see the Future Annie standing in the doorway. The other woman looks _exactly_ like his fiancé. She has a touch of grey in her feathered-like-Farrah-Fawcett hair, and she's wearing wire rimmed glasses and a trim grey pantsuit in lieu of a cardigan and dress. Annie never mentioned an older sister, so this doppelgänger can only be one person.

“ _Mom_.”

Troy and Abed glance uncomfortably between Jeff and Annie and each other. The silence stretches on, choking the life out of the room.

“We should probably go to commercial,” Abed mutters quietly.

Without taking his eyes off Annie's mom, Troy starts playing Daybreak on his phone. The whimsical jazz melody fills the dead air as the imaginary cameras cut to black.


End file.
